I live on a Finger Lake now

I.
I unintentionally fall out of
attraction with a guy into ‘watersports’.
He had emetophobia, anxiety
about vomiting, of other people
vomiting, of what comes out
of the body
during the whole excruciating process. The implications
of what is happening. He thinks
it has something to do with something
he can’t clearly remember from childhood.
No, I never

got pissed on.

My father
cannot get out of bed, & Mom’s at work. I ask
if he minds if I empty
his drainage bag, & he says, you’re not gonna puke
are ya he sounds
so tired & I say,no, Dad. I force a laugh
sort of like a cough.

II.
I vomit blood into the lake
and feel better. I bike thirty-three miles
in the pitch black, only
closing my eyes twice. The stars wind
up underneath my feet. Narrative fails
each of us again. Timelines fray,
coming apart. Dissolution framed in softness. Do you ever
just dissolve? Infidelity accusations
before the thought, ever —
then I do it. I go

bowling every Sunday night in a pool of orange light.
In a memory, I did not suck. In fact, I helped.
I live on a Finger Lake now.